


Stardust

by PoorWendy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorWendy/pseuds/PoorWendy
Summary: A collection of Thorquill drabbles and ficlets for the Writin' Dirty April fest on tumblr. None of the drabbles are related or part of the same narrative or verse besides those specified. As of Chapter 6, this now contains smut, so I've hiked the rating up to E.Any chapters which contain explicit content will include a heads-up in their summaries.





	1. The Opposite of Love

It seems so  _ simple, _ right off the bat. Uncomplicated, cut and dried. All the things people tell themselves when they get into something like this.

The thing is, Peter’s always been really  _ good  _ at that. You spend a lifetime running from your feelings and you find really, phenomenally suitable ways to subvert them. You take the things you loved and grieved and hoped for and you put them in a box and you kick it under the bed behind a hundred useless things you’ll never need and you ignore all of it long enough to start believing you don’t even have it anymore. You don’t have those parts, you don’t have those feelings. You don’t have a box full of anything even close to that, nothing sacred to protect or fear.

And that’s how Peter grew up, running, then learning, then stealing, then fucking his way across the galaxy, never giving anybody any part of himself, not even when he could see they ached for it. He had no parts like that to give, they were long gone, he wasn’t hiding them anywhere, not a chance.

You crash your spaceship into  _ one fucking god  _ and everything goes to shit. Not right away, of course. Because Peter’s practiced, and wanting never goes bone-deep, never goes heart-deep, never stays around long enough to complicate anything.

Simple. Uncomplicated. Cut and dried.

Though it doesn’t take long to start, and it’s only surprising for a moment, the first time it happens, when they sort of crash together. There isn’t enough time to really think about what’s going to happen when they ignite, because it’s clear from the start that they’ve each got a pretty short fuse, so whether it’s fighting or fucking it’s bound to happen  _ quick. _

It does.  _ Real  _ quick. And the momentarily surprising part is that it starts with a kiss. That should be enough of a sign right there by itself. Because there’s no Star-Lord charm, there’s no smarming, there’s no  _ Can I buy you a drink?  _ or _ Come here often?  _ or _ You ever seen the inside of an M-ship?  _ There’s just butting heads and bickering and then one of them putting the other up against a wall, swift and sudden.

By no right should the next logical step be a kiss. What follows it makes perfect sense, biting at flesh and tearing at fabric and grabbing parts of each other, stuffing parts full of other parts. It’s angry and competitive, like most things between them are. It’s angry enough and competitive enough to keep Peter naive to what that  _ thing  _ between them really is for weeks on end, but it always starts with that kiss.

It’s the kiss that changes, most obviously, more than anything else. It’s the kiss that grows warmer and more significant, that keeps turning up all throughout every encounter. It’s where they’ve been hiding everything, but whatever it is in the kiss that helps keep everything hidden starts unraveling the more they pull at it. In the kiss, they find each other’s names. They find each other’s trust. They find each other’s bone-deep, heart-deep wants.

At first, the kiss is just how it begins, but after a while, without either of them mentioning it, it’s the thing they both come back for, over and over again.

It shouldn’t surprise Peter, not one bit, when he finds it there, the box, dust-covered and never-truly-forgotten. Pulling and unraveling and loosening and suddenly it’s not just  _ there, _ it’s  _ open _ . Ripping the seams open and in the lining of the kiss, the fabric of it, he finds grief and hope and love.

He thinks that Thor might have found it too, might have unearthed it, digging carelessly through all those useless things-you’ll-never-need it was hidden behind.


	2. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be in a future update of my Thorquill grungy-basement-show-AU, _Is that what they listen to in Missouri?_

The four of them rack up a hell of a bill at the diner, Thor happily footing the bill for Peter again. It takes a while to eat, Peter still fielding plenty of questions from Val and Bruce about his life and his “spaceman adventures.”

It’s nearly four-thirty by the time they’ve paid and head outside and make to cross the mostly-vacant highway again.

“So Peter,” Val asks, checking the time. “When’s the last time you saw a sunrise?”

Peter tilts his head, considers. “Not that long, really. I was on Xandar a couple weeks ago, I guess.” Bruce and Val turn to each other and mouth  _Xandar_ with exaggerated astonishment. Peter laughs. “Xandar has  _three_ suns.” That turns their astonishment authentic real quick.

“Okay,” Val concedes, “that’s dope.”

“But,” Bruce says, “you haven’t seen  _this_ sunrise since you were a little kid, right?”

Peter nods while Thor reaches out for his hand. “Yeah. Not in like twenty years.”

“Damn,” Bruce muses. “Well, strap in, I guess. Gotta find someplace nice to watch it.”

Val tilts her head, considering. “What about Vista Place?” she suggests.

Thor thinks about that. “It’s good, but it’s a hike.”

Bruce agrees. “Yeah, and that guy at the top of the hill always gets really mad when we go up his driveway to get the best view.”

Peter squeezes Thor’s hand, leans toward him a little. “What about the Milano?” he asks. “I can open up the windshield. We can even climb up on top.”

_“Whaaaat?”_  Val hollers. “Are we talking about a spaceship, here? Are you taking us to your spaceship?”

“Holy shit, can we?” Bruce asks.

Thor feigns disappointment. “Boy, here I thought I was special, but you’ll just take anybody on that ship, huh?”

Peter bumps his shoulder into Thor’s. “Chin up, pal,” Bruce says. “I got a feeling you got the VIP tour.”

_“Barf,”_  Val cackles. “So are we going?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, feeling benevolent. “We’re going.”

_“Yoooo!_  Awesome. Fuckin’  _spaceship,_  let’s  _go_. Don’t abduct us, ‘kay, Peter?” Val laughs.

Thor rubs a hand over his eyes, embarrassed. “God, Val. Tact.”

Bruce shoves her on the shoulder, but Peter just laughs. “Oh, right, sorry,“ Val says. "I’m just playing, anyway. You can  _totally_ abduct us.”

Bruce nods in begrudging agreement. “I mean, yeah, pretty much.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”


	3. Imposter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little prequel to [this gifset](https://starprince-sparkles.tumblr.com/post/177778069825/ive-heard-plenty).

_“I was a skinny little kid, could squeeze into places adults couldn’t, that made it easier for thievin’.”_

Whatever Yondu might claim, that was true enough. Peter was a sneaky kid, could slip in and out undetected. But then he grew. And grew. And  _grew_. ‘Til he was taller than damn-near anybody else on the Eclector—Yondu included—and then broader and broader with every year.

Fortunately for Peter, he had other ways of slipping in and out undetected, even if he couldn’t squeeze through the vents anymore, even if he couldn’t wiggle through filthy drainage systems. He had charm and he even had tact, when he really needed to, and nine times out of ten, he could get to whatever he meant to by way of the front door.

He’s had his eye on the Asgardian vault for a while.  _Odin’s_  vault. Well, at least, it was, until the old king died. That’s why Peter figured it was probably as good a time as any to make a move. A change in power, after some sibling-rivalry-type struggle, no less, if the word making its way around was to be believed.

He figured with this new guy on the throne, the son, the one who’s got a history of hot-headed revenge assaults on Frost Giants and other acts of blind, foolish bravery under his belt (which, Peter admits… kind of intriguing) there might be enough uprooting in Asgard to offer the right amount of distraction for Peter to waltz right into the vault and dig around.

And this new king is already doing him a lot of favors, with these new open-armed policies, trying to strengthen bonds throughout the realms, hosting visitors from far and wide. All Peter has to do is blend in with them. Should be easy enough.

So, when he’s taken to the throne room to face the man himself, he’s wondering where  _exactly_ he went wrong. There’s really no two ways about it: he underestimated the guy, expecting a senseless warrior who’d be too overwhelmed by diplomatic responsibility to delegate any amount of extra precaution. Wrong, it seems. Very wrong.

When a couple gladiator-looking guys haul him to the center of the court, he sees him for the first time.

Well,  _god damn._  Sitting on a grand, gold throne, looking comfortable and casual as ever, scepter in hand. He’s the most cut, handsome motherfucker Peter’s ever seen. So, enough tact, Peter thinks. Try for charm. Challenge the smirk on this king’s face, because if he can find an in, it’s  _infinitely_ worth risking his neck.

Peter licks his lips and stares up at him while someone announces:  _Thor, Odinson, King of Asgard._

Thor grins, tilts his head. “Star-Lord,” he greets, with a fondness that Peter could swear isn’t  _entirely_ affected.

So Peter musters up all the Star-Lord charm he can manage. “Your majesty.”


	4. Cocktail

“You wouldn’t th—” Peter hiccups, “think they’d fuck you up so—” he hiccups again, “s-so fast.”

Stark is laughing at him. “Guess that Missouri moonshine doesn’t hold a candle to tequila.”

Peter snorts. “I was  _ eight,” _ he says, probably talking a little too loud. “Didn’t,” he licks his lips, stumbles a little when he tries to stand up. “Never drank  _ moonshine.” _

“I know, pal. Margaritas will sneak up on you. Especially when you put away a pitcher of them,” he laughs at his own joke. Banner and Thor do too.

Peter shrugs. “They were just so  _ good,” _ he says, stands up again, a little slower and definitely more successful. “An’ it wasn’ a _ pitcher,” _ he slurs, tilts his head, tries to remember just how many of them he drank. He turns to Thor and Banner. “Was it a pitcher?” he asks, quiet, genuinely curious.

They’re all laughing again, and Peter’s a little incensed about it, but he’s mostly distracted by how badly he needs to pee. “Calling it a night?” Banner asks, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Just,” he starts, lets go of the table, feeling rather proud of himself for standing upright without support, “gotta pee.” He sways as he takes a step, and suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Thor’s voice comes from beside him, and Peter gives him a half-hearted shove, nearly falling over as soon as he does, grabbing Thor’s shirt at the same time that Thor hooks an arm around his waist.

“’Kay,” Peter agrees, then, and lets Thor help him out of the living room and down the hall toward the room he’s staying in.

Thor does his best to steady Peter before sending into the bathroom on his own, and Peter has to lean with his shoulder against the wall while he relieves himself. He practically falls into Thor’s arms when he opens the door, letting him support most of his weight as they make for Peter’s room.

“Pretty sure I didn’t piss on the floor  _ at all,” _ Peter announces proudly.

Thor laughs, strong arm tight around him. “God, you’re a mess.”

“You—” Peter hiccups,  _ “you’re _ a mess,” he fires back, then chuckles, forehead against Thor’s shoulder. “Nah,” he says, letting Thor in on the big joke. “You’re never a mess, are you?” He breathes in, not even watching where they’re going, face pressed to Thor’s sleeve. “You smell good.”

Thor doesn’t answer at first, just keeps walking. “Thank you,” he says. “Here we are,” he grunts, walking into Peter’s room, flipping on the light, guiding Peter to the bed.

Peter’s aware of it, aware of what he’s doing even before he starts. He knows he’s looking for trouble. When Thor tries to let Peter fall back onto the bed, Peter doesn’t let go of him, so that the two of them fall back together, sitting on the unmade sheets. “You’re, y’know,” Peter’s babbling, “you feel good, too.” He puts his hand on Thor’s arm. “You’re warm.”

Thor doesn’t say anything, just gives Peter a sort of amused look, one that he thinks is saying  _ Are you about to do what I think you’re about to do? _

“You don’t have to go back,” Peter tries to offer casually. “You could stay here and just t—” Peter hiccups, “tell them I was getting sick.”

Thor narrows his eyes.  _ “Are _ you going to get sick?”

“Prob—” Peter hiccups, _ “probably _ not.”

Thor laughs at him. “Get some sleep,” he says, shaking off Peter’s hand, trying to get up. “Do you need anything?”

Peter shakes his head, licks his lips. “Don’t need, y’know, just—” Peter swallows, licks his lips. “Just  _ want.” _ He reaches out and puts his hand flat on one of Thor’s pecs. “You could stay here,” he says again, and he thinks he sees Thor flush, just for a moment. Thinks he sees his eyes go dark.

“Go to sleep, Peter,” Thor says, and stands up. Peter groans and flops onto his back. “You ever wanted it before?” Thor asks when he’s standing in the doorway. “Or is it just because you’re drunk?”

Peter shakes his head, eyes shut already, room spinning just a little as he begins to drift off. “Wanted you before,” he answers, “’mean, look at you.” He yawns. “Thought you would k-kick my ass.”

He hears Thor chuckle. His light flips off. Then he hears Thor say, “Ask me again tomorrow.” The door closes and Peter falls asleep.


	5. Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dearest [deinvati](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati) said "THOU ART A VILLAIN" while I was lamenting my lack of ideas for this prompt, and so I picked out a bunch of lines from Act III, Scene I of _Romeo and Juliet_ to inspire me, all of which I've put in the endnotes of this chapter. Thanks, dei!

“You don’t like that I’m here,” Thor says plainly, closing Peter’s door behind him. And what is Peter supposed to say to that? Of course he doesn’t. Ever since they picked Thor up, the Benatar’s overcrowded and everybody’s  _ ooh _ -ing and  _ ah _ -ing at the fucking pirate angel.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Seems to,” Thor observes, taking a step toward him. “From what I gather, before I got here, you weren’t often hiding out in your room alone.”

Peter thins his eyes at his phrasing. _ Hiding out.  _ Even if it’s sort of exactly what he’s doing. “Not really, no,” he snaps. He’s suddenly very annoyed that Thor took it upon himself to just invite himself in like this. “You know what? No. I don’t like that you’re here,” he says outright, if Thor feels so entitled to these answers. “I don’t like that you’re on my ship, I don’t like the way you’ve got my team acting. I sure as hell don’t like that you just barged into my room to, what, check up on me?”

“Actually—” Thor starts, but Peter doesn’t have the patience, he charges on as he gets up off of his bed.

“May as well go back upstairs and keep charming everybody else with the muscles and the smile and everything else because from where I’m sitting, you don’t belong here,” Peter lets out in one angry breath, stepping close enough to Thor that he could reach out and shove him if he wanted to. God damn him for just showing up here like this, big and strong and infuriating and bringing that uneasy edge with him into Peter’s space, where he has no chance of trying to escape it.

(Where it’s a lot more difficult to ignore that the uneasiness might have a little more to do with want than jealousy.)

Thor tilts his head, looking far too amused at everything Peter just threw at him. “I didn’t come in to check up on you,” he says, takes half-a-step forward, a little nothing-movement that suddenly changes the shade of this entire interaction.

“No?” Peter says, trying to keep his voice challenging when everything hopeful and weak and needy is trying so desperately to claw its way out of him..

“I had something else in mind,” Thor says, eyeing Peter up and down, all hungry and appraising. “Still do, even after such an unfriendly greeting.”

Peter swallows. “What’s that?” he asks, and Thor smirks, and Peter thinks that means he’s way too easy to read, that his mouth may have said  _ What’s that?  _ but his face must very clearly have said  _ Oh, thank god. _

Thor puts a hand to Peter’s chest and pushes him backward onto the bed. “Tell me more,” he drawls, smug as anything, climbing on top of him, “about how charming my muscles and my smile are.”

Peter flushes, even as he tries to sneer. “Shut up,” he mutters, grabbing Thor by the collar, pulling him down so he can kiss that insufferable smile right off his handsome face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Either withdraw unto some private place,_  
>  and reason coldly of your grievances,  
> or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.”
> 
>  
> 
> _“Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze._  
>  I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.”
> 
>  
> 
> _"...The love I bear thee can afford_  
>  No better term than this: Thou art a villain."
> 
>  
> 
> _"...the reason that I have to love thee_  
>  Doth much excuse the appertaining rage  
> To such a greeting. Villain I am none."


	6. The Golden Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating's been hiked up to E! Smut ahead.

Every time they’ve messed around, Thor’s been all gripping hands and gnashing teeth, even if behind it is always this careful sort of consideration, a striking way of being completely tuned-in to Peter’s every minute reaction.

So, when Thor pulls Peter’s hair, it’s to hum praise in his ear. When he slaps Peter’s ass, he rushes to press his lips to it. When he stretches Peter around his fingers and won’t let him touch his cock, when he makes him come  _ Just like this, let me see, come for me Peter, _ he pulls him close against him and cleans him up and tells him he’s good, so  _ good, perfect for me, so beautiful. _

And it’s a wonder, really, that Thor’s had Peter on the ropes so many times, that Peter’s been at Thor’s mercy more times than he can count, and yet he’s never taken Thor’s cock. And it’s doubly surprising that the first time Peter gets Thor on his back and stuffs his fingers inside him, that from about the very moment he’s breached, Thor’s writhing and whining and grabbing at any part of Peter he can reach.

“Just do it,” Thor’s begging.  _ “Fuck me.”  _

It’s all going right to his head. The look on his face, the way he’s stretched around three of Peter’s fingers, that desperate voice Peter’s never heard before—not when Peter came for him, not when Peter sucked his dick. It’s unbelievable.

He’s just as desperate to stick his cock in Thor, but he manages to keep his cool, keeps his voice calm and sweet. “God, you want it bad, don’t you?” he asks, expecting Thor to snap back at him, to challenge his claim.

Instead, Thor nods, frantic, says, “I do, I want it,” props himself up on his elbows, staring at Peter with dark, hungry eyes. “Need it,” he pleads.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Peter hisses, grabs Thor behind the knee and bends his leg, presses his thigh up against his chest, spreading him wide and digging deeper into him. “Ask me again,” Peter tells him, crooking his fingers. Thor drops to his back and calls out. “Say it again.”

Thor’s got his fingers pushed into his own hair, holding on tight. “Fuck me,” he spits out.

Peter nods, pulls his fingers out of Thor without warning, and it makes him swear, loud,  _ so  _ loud. “Okay,” Peter says, opening up the lube, emptying some into his hand and coating his cock with it. He keeps stroking himself as he motions for Thor with his free hand to sit up. Thor does, and Peter grabs his jaw. “This is how you want it, isn’t it?” he asks, leaning in to speak in Thor’s ear. Thor nods as best he can. Peter smiles. “Turn over,” he says. “Hands and knees.”

Thor hastily does just that, and Peter doesn’t have it in him to tease. He lines up with Thor’s hole and presses in.

Sinking into Thor is, appropriately, divine. Warm and slick and tight, and it pulls all these weak and lovely sounds from so low in Thor’s throat. And the moment he starts to pick up a pace, Thor wants it  _ harder _ and  _ faster _ and  _ more, oh-my-god, more, Peter _ .

And Peter gives him everything he asks for, and showers him with praise, runs his hands sweetly up over Thor’s back and leans down to press kisses to his spine, digs his fingernails into Thor’s waist and throws himself brutally against Thor’s hips. Gives Thor all the things Thor’s given him, realizes now that all this time, Thor’s been telling him exactly what he wanted. “Jesus, you’re amazing,” Peter says. “You feel so fucking good, feel incredible.”

“Gonna make me come,” Thor says, too loud, desperate. Peter sees him lift one hand off the bed, reach underneath himself like he’s going to grab his cock.

“No,” Peter bites, grabs Thor by the wrist, pulls it and pins it behind Thor’s back. “No, come on, just like this. Come for me. I know you can come for me, know you’re close—”

_ “Fuck,”  _ Thor sobs, “okay, okay—” and he drops, first to his elbow, then pressing his chest flat to the bed.

Peter looks at him, head turned to the side, and can see tears leaking from his eyes. “Tell me,” Peter says, “tell me how close. Tell me what you need.”

Thor blinks hard, tears spilling onto the mattress. “I’m close, I’m close,” he babbles frantically. “Just keep going, just a little more—” he curves his spine, trying for some different angle, and Peter holds tight to Thor’s hips, bends his own knees  _ just so _ and thrusts forward hard, harder than ought to be particularly comfortable, but Thor starts chanting, “Yes,  _ yes-yes-yes—”  _ His hole squeezes tight,  _ so  _ tight around Peter’s cock as he comes, shouting.

“Holy shit,” Peter gasps, keeps pushing, the sounds Thor’s making and the way his eyes are shut so tight driving him to the edge, and he realizes he’s been waiting, been on the edge from the moment he sunk into him, and he lets himself go, spilling hot inside him.


	7. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of crack and smut ahead!

The circumstances leading to them having the facility to themselves are rather irrelevant to Peter. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. Because he and Thor haven’t had a minute alone the whole time they’ve been here, and Peter’s been burning up, because this is definitely the longest they’ve gone without tearing each other’s clothes off since they started this whole thing.

So when Pepper calls Tony and urges him to join her and help sort out whatever Stark Industries crisis it was she was dealing with, and Tony apologizes profusely to his guests about running out on them, neither Peter nor Thor makes a great fuss about it. Rather, they only do their best not to push him out the door.

“Anything you need, just ask FRIDAY,” Tony’s telling them as Happy badgers him about how his plane is leaving shortly. “She’ll take care of you. Rogers and Barnes will be here in the morning, and I should be back by tomorrow night— _ Happy,  _ relax, it’s my plane, it’s not leaving without me.”

Happy looks about ready to burst a blood vessel, and mutters under his breath about how Pepper will blame  _ him _ if Tony’s late.

“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” Peter assures him. “Just go, we’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

They make excellent use of the rest of the day, and the rest of the night, barely leaving the bedroom at all to the point that Peter is genuinely concerned he’ll be depleted of fluids entirely.

And it’s a  _ great _ time, really, it is. It’s not as if Peter gets  _ bored _ of sucking dick, or having his dick sucked. But he’s furious with himself for not packing any lube. He really didn’t think they’d have that kind of time during this trip (and really, they wouldn’t have if Tony hadn’t been called away). He figured they would have been lucky to sneak in a shower together, to get a chance to jerk each other off. And god damn it, he’d almost grabbed it anyway. He’d  _ almost  _ grabbed the lube from off his dresser before they left anyway, but he didn’t. God damn it.

And when he wakes up the next morning, cock hard and pressed against Thor’s ass, Thor waking up and whining softly and pressing back against him, he finds it rather difficult not to tease a finger between his cheeks.

And then, when Thor hums at the touch and says, voice thick with sleep,  _ “Lick me,”  _ well, Peter can’t deny him that. And after fifteen glorious minutes of eating Thor out and hearing him whine, hearing him moan, shameless and loud enough to fill up the whole empty corridor, he starts begging,  _ “Fuck me, fuck me,”  _ and Peter resolves to find a way. Thor kisses him and grabs at him and rubs against him even as he’s begging him to  _ go, go, find something, please, Peter. _

Peter gets up, hard as a fucking rock in his briefs, wandering through the halls and ducking in and out of bedrooms and bathrooms and rifling rudely through cabinets. He’s nearly at the end of his pitiful rope when he remembers what Tony said.  _ If you need anything… _

“FRIDAY?” Peter hollers, trying to sound polite, not quite sure why.

“Yes, Mr. Quill?” the friendly, Irish, disembodied voice answers.

“We got any lube?” he asks, palming himself through his underwear, walking toward the kitchen. “Like, at this point even olive oil would—”

His heart stops as he hears someone clear their throat, turning to see Rogers and Barnes standing there. Rogers holding a duffle bag and his eyebrows are raised in amused surprise, Barnes chuckling with a metal hand over his eyes.

“...help me get that… drawer unstuck,” Peter tries ridiculously to recover. “Hey, uh,” he stammers, blushing, both hands rushing down to cover his obvious boner, “hey, guys.”

Barnes drops his hand and shakes his head. Steve looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh as he awkwardly asks, “Tony here?”

“He had to deal with some business,” Peter mumbles. “He’s supposed to be back later.” He feels like he should absolutely excuse himself. Right?

“Thor?” Steve asks then, no doubt having been promised a nice weekend with his old friends.

“He’s, uh,” Peter starts to answer, feels himself going red. “He’s still in bed.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” Barnes says, offering Peter an out, staring not-at-all-discreetly at where he’s covering his cock.

“Yeah,” Peter responds stupidly. “I—”

“Oh my god,” Rogers mutters, digging into his bag,  _ “go.”  _ Then he pulls out a bottle and tosses it to Peter.

Instinctively, Peter reaches up to catch it with both hands, embarrassment giving way to staggering relief. “Hey, thanks!” he chirps, as Barnes starts really laughing. “Oh!” Peter says, remembering, rushing to cover himself again.

“No problem,” Rogers says, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “We’ll, uh, make ourselves at home.”

Peter nods, smiles, rushes back to the bedroom with Rogers and Barnes cackling behind him.

Thor’s writhing on the sheets, hard and wanton. “Took long enough,” he says when Peter walks in. “Did you find something?”

Peter thinks for a second before answering, then jumps onto the bed. “Yep,” he says, “c’mere,” and he slides down to eat Thor’s ass a little more.

The details, he thinks, can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit with Peter asking FRIDAY if there's lube and mentioning olive oil is lifted, verbatim, from S01E05 of _Archer._


	8. Paint

“Remind me again,” Thor’s saying as he peels his sweat-drenched t-shirt off, “why you didn’t take Stark up on his offer.”

It  _ is  _ taking a lot longer than Peter had anticipated, and since they’ve got the air conditioning turned off and the window opened wide to vent the fumes, it’s fucking sweltering in here.

Yes, Stark had offered to bring professionals in to paint Peter’s room. Peter refused, not out of any sense of pride or obligation. It just  _ felt  _ like he should do it. Like when he was a kid, the summer that he was seven years old, and he and his mother opened up all his bedroom windows and moved all the furniture and and painted his room that perfect deep, vibrant blue. They’d played music and danced along and by the time it was dark, they were finished.

A few days later, she’d surprised him with gold paint and and they’d painted stars everywhere, and they’d signed their names down in the corner and left their hand prints right above them. Peter can’t imagine any of it’s still there. Hell, the house might not even be there. Though he privately hopes that it all is.

“I just wanted to do it,” Peter says, absently wiping a paint-stained wrist over his cheek. “I guess it was more fun when I was a kid,” he admits.

Thor smiles, steps over to him and tries to wipe some of the paint of Peter’s face with his thumb, though Peter imagines it only makes matters worse. “You know, it is a little bit fun.”

Peter grins. “’View’s not terrible, either,” he says, letting his eyes roam over Thor’s torso now that it’s blessedly exposed.

Thor  _ tsk _ s at him. “Back to work, you.”

Peter sighs, turns up the music, and the two of them get back to it.


	9. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Smut ahead.

Peter slams Thor against the wall the moment they’re inside. And Thor’s grinning, about to make some snarky comment, but Peter doesn’t give him the chance, just shoves his tongue into Thor’s mouth.

It doesn’t exactly take a special occasion for Peter get worked up, for Peter to feel like he’s just  _ got _ to get his hands on Thor  _ right now, right this fucking second.  _ But it really doesn’t hurt when Thor gets recognized and drooled over and thanked for Saving the World.

Thor bites his lip, and Peter hisses and pulls back, starts unbuttoning Thor’s jeans. “Are you ever going to stop dragging me home like this after somebody recognizes me?” Thor asks him, nips at his bottom lip again while Peter gets his cock out.

Peter smiles at the way Thor’s breath goes shaky when he starts stroking him. “You complaining?”

Thor shakes his head. “Not complaining.”

Peter kisses him again, working him with his fist as he trails his lips along Thor’s jaw and down his neck before he gets onto his knees. “Guess it’s just something about watching people stare at you all disbelieving-heart-eyes. I mean, I’m always thinking how lucky I am to fuck the god,” he leans in to breathe against Thor’s shaft, “but people talk about you saving the world and it reminds me I get to fuck the superhero too.”

“Not to— _ ngh,”  _ Thor stutters as Peter licks at the head of his cock, “not to discourage this development, but,  _ oh,”  _ he sucks in a sharp breath as Peter wraps his mouth around him, “you’re  _ also _ sort of a superhero.”

Peter hums, pulls off of Thor’s cock. “‘Sort of?’” he asks, eyebrow raised. Thor laughs, takes his cock in one hand and pulls Peter back toward it by his hair. Peter licks his lips, opens wide, swallows him down.

Thor groans, holding Peter’s jaw encouragingly, at first just following his motions but then, here and there, holding him in place and thrusting gently into his mouth. “You do get to fuck the god,” Thor murmurs, stroking Peter’s cheek with his thumb. Peter stares up at him adoringly. “Though I think the god might like to fuck  _ you _ tonight,” Thor goes on, staring down with a wicked glint in his mismatched eyes. “How does that sound?"

Peter groans, digs his fingernails into Thor’s thighs, writhes a bit where he kneels. Because  _ fuck,  _ that sounds just perfect.


	10. One Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Not Thorquill. Gen teenage-Peter

“Stranded?” Yondu’s voice is too loud, too sharp.

Peter nods, still staring at the floor, can’t quite compel himself to meet Yondu’s eyeline, even on the screen. “Yeah, I, uh,” he mumbles, “I ran out of fuel.”

“Y’know, I seem to remember tellin’ ya  to take that ship out.”

“I know,” Peter says. God, he never imagined it’d feel this awful. “I know you did.”

“Not sure I shouldn’t just leave you out there,” Yondu spits, Kraglin looking somewhat sympathetic behind him. “Not sure I shouldn’t just cut my losses, boy.”

Peter’s furious with himself as tears start to burn in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. “Please,” he says simply, voice shallow as he forces the tears back. “I’m sorry.”

When he finally looks up, he can see the moment that Yondu’s resolve weakens. He can see his eyes give away that little bit of weakness he’s got for Peter, the thing that makes him stand between Peter and his crew, the thing that makes Peter wish he’d listened.

“I oughta let ya just starve out there, boy,” Yondu says, then, suddenly insincere. “You just hold tight and try not to get yourself in any more trouble.”

Peter nods. He’d like to say  _ thank you _ , he’d like to say so many things, things he might as well say now because he knows they’ll spill out of him once Yondu arrives, once he’s not alone anymore.

“I won’t,” Peter says.

“Hell, why I even bother wi—” Yondu’s muttering as the call cuts out.

Peter turns off the communications system. He sits down on the floor, and curls up, and starts to cry.


	11. Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that I'd call this _explicit_ but it gets a little smutty at the end.

The thing is, Peter already knew that Thor used to have long hair. Thor’s told him, and Stark’s made all the jokes, and on those occasions when Thor’s stopped or recognized, people always say the same thing. They say,  _ I almost didn’t recognize you without the hair.  _

It’s just that he never  _ saw  _ it.

And the first time that he does, well, it kind of fucks him up.

They’re at the facility, and it’s Parker, really, who brings it up, when he talks about watching Thor in London on YouTube. Parker who, then, asks Thor a bunch of questions of why he cut his hair and how long it had been and does he miss it? Does he ever want to grow it back?

And Peter’s trying to find some casual way to ask, trying to feign disinterest, and eventually he just blurts out, “Alright, I gotta see this.”

“You’ve never  _ seen it?”  _ Parker asks, disbelieving, eyes wide.

“Jesus, no, I haven’t,” Peter answers impatiently, “but I’d like to.”

Parker pulls up the video he’d been talking about. He keeps babbling while the shaky footage plays, about what grade he was in when this happened and how everybody was talking about it and then he doubtlessly says a lot more but Peter completely checks out the second he sees Thor on the screen.

Thor, armored, red cape trailing along behind him as he swings that fucking hammer, hair long and golden and gorgeous and flying around his face.

“Holy shit,” Peter mutters, unable to stop watching until the footage runs out. When it does, he turns and looks at Thor, sitting next to him and looking a little wistful, a little embarrassed. Even so, he gives Peter a little smirk, like he can read his fucking mind.

Peter, somehow, manages to keep his shit together, manages to wait some reasonable amount of time before giving Thor a decidedly  _ follow-me _ stare and excusing himself.

Ten minutes later, they’re on Peter’s bed, and Peter’s got Thor on his knees, gripping the headboard,  _ begging  _ for Peter to get inside him.

And when Peter finally gives him what he wants and starts to sink inside him, he leans forward and grabs a fistful of Thor’s short-cropped hair, and it makes Thor  _ keen. _

“God,” Peter mutters, thinking back to the video. “Makes sense why you like getting your hair pulled so much.”

Thor laughs and moans all at once. “Shut up and fuck me.”


	12. Happiness is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a couple hours before I saw Endgame and I just really wanted to wring every pure, light Thorquill feel out of my brain in my uncertainty of what might be ahead of me! This contains NO spoilers, to be clear. And moving forward there will be **_NO ENDGAME SPOILERS AT ALL_** in any part of this fic.
> 
> Anyway, here is fluff!

The park isn’t too crowded. Peter supposes that most of the schools haven’t let out yet.

It’s been a little over a year since they moved to the city, but since Peter spent the first few months here holed up in his room, he missed this part. The end of spring, when the weather wasn’t sweltering yet, and the park wasn’t so crowded during the day.

In a few weeks, it’ll get hot. Hot in that  _ city  _ way, hot like it never got in Missouri. They won’t want to spend entire afternoons lying around in the park. So this is nice. The way that doing any-old-thing with Thor is nice.

And Peter’s got his head on Thor’s chest, and Thor’s holding a book up that’s keeping his face in shadow. It’s something old and long, another one of Rogers’ recommendations, and Peter knows he’ll be bored to tears whenever Thor finishes it and they head down to Brooklyn so he and Rogers can dissect it in detail over dinner.

There’s a breeze, and there’s a woman sitting on one of the benches near by playing a guitar and she even plays one of the Beatles songs that’s always coming on Pandora that Peter really, really loves. He thinks he remembers it from when he was little. He thinks it was one that his mother used to play.

Thor pulls him in a little closer, stretches his neck to press a kiss into Peter’s hair, and everything is rather wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This exists in my long Thorquill fic that isn't published yet, though it will be soon... I swear...


	13. Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little smutty! Not super explicit. But, y'know. Dicks.

You’d think that somebody who’s fifteen-hundred years old might have, somewhere along the line, learned patience.

You’d be wrong.

It’s almost ridiculous, really, and Peter actually laughs a little at the thought, though it breaks off into a hiss when Thor grabs a fistful of his hair.

“God, take it easy,” Peter mutters, still laughing a bit, breathing against the inside of Thor’s thigh.

Thor groans. “You don’t have to enjoy it quite so much.”

Peter  _ tsk _ s, drags his teeth across Thor’s skin. “Why would I bother making you squirm like this, unless I enjoyed it so much?” Thor huffs an impatient breath. “Of course I enjoy it. Why wouldn’t I?” He licks along the crease of Thor’s thigh. “God of Thunder,” he teases. “Big, strong Thor…” He hums, mouth so cruelly close to Thor’s cock. “Who’d have thought you’d let me take all the time I wanted with you…”

He glances up at Thor, and Thor thins his eyes at him. Peter smirks. Because he’s not wrong, not at all. And Thor could just put Peter out with one good punch, if he wanted to. He could close his thighs around Peter’s head and suffocate him, if he wanted to. He could  _ literally summon a bolt of thunder _ and fry Peter like a mosquito in a god damn bug zapper on the front porch. If he wanted to.

But he doesn’t.

“God damn it,” Thor spits, and lets his head tilt back, defeated.

Peter’s so pleased with himself that it makes him benevolent, and he gives the head of Thor’s cock a little lick, and Thor moans Peter’s name, high and weak.

And Jesus, this really never gets old.


	14. Mixed Tape

“You do realize,” Stark impatiently explains, “how impractical this is?”

Peter just rolls his eyes and says the same thing he’s been saying all day. “Yeah, I get it. But I want to make it anyway.”

Stark gives in, of course, eventually, because he’s always game to help Peter pursue whatever project he expresses any interest in. Always game to help Peter, generally, to feel happy and content on Earth, after everything that’s happened.

And Peter actually really loves Pandora, and he loves Spotify. He loves that all the music in the god damn world is at his fingertips. And he happily compiles playlists for himself, day-in and day-out. But for something like this, for a _gift,_ he wants it to be the real thing. He thinks about his most prized possessions, his mother’s Awesome Mixes. That’s what he wants it to be like.

So Stark helps him. He has Happy drive all over to find a pack of blank tapes, which Happy complains about at great length. He swears Peter to secrecy when he pulls an old tape deck out of storage, one from when he was a boy-genius at MIT. He shows him how to set it up with the laptop first, and then the stereo, and then he leaves him to it.

Peter spends the next couple hours hunched over the laptop, recording each song from the playlist he put together on Spotify, carefully writing out the title and all the songs on the tape case’s insert.

When Thor gets back later that night, Peter hands it over, and Thor takes it and smiles.

_I Hope You Don’t Mind  
By: Peter For: Thor_

It’s a big smile, a gut-wrenching smile, something deep and adoring. Because he knows exactly what it is, because Peter’s told him all about what his own mixtapes and what they mean to him and how much he cherishes them. 

“Can you play it for me?” Thor asks, and Peter nods, and he puts it on and turns up the stereo. They sit on the bed together, and Thor throws an arm around Peter, and Peter rests his head on Thor’s shoulder, and they sit there and listen to the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this mix, "I Hope You Don't Mind," exists! I made it last summer for Thorquill Week. And [**this post**](https://starprince-sparkles.tumblr.com/post/175709078625/i-hope-you-dont-mind-a-mix-by-peter-for-thor) contains a tracklist and a link to the Spotify playlist. Enjoy!


	15. Self Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's porn!

The problem, mainly, is that Peter can’t keep his fucking hands to himself.

And then, of course, there’s the never being able to shut up. There’s the always having to have the last word. There’s the never leaving well enough alone. And then, actually, on top of that, there’s the fact that Thor can’t seem to do any of that either. 

Okay, so maybe there are a handful of problems, a handful of obstacles between them and managing to keep this whole  _ thing  _ to themselves.

And Thor thinks, maybe, that the only reason they’re even still keeping it to themselves is that both of them are really getting off on it, the hiding, the secrecy. That element of  _ somebody-could-walk-right-in.  _ In fact, they’ve even said as much to each other, said those words, and more than once.

Because even if it started out in those rare and wonderful opportune moments, glorious stretches when they were the only ones on the Benatar, or when they were on the Statesman or on-planet and miraculously far enough from everybody else… Even if that’s how it started, both of them proved too impatient, too hungry to wait for those rare opportunities to roll around.

They take whatever they can get, any fleeting window where they find anything remotely resembling privacy. They force themselves to keep the encounters brief, they tell each other to stay quiet, they grip and grab at each other in passing in any moment that there aren’t eyes on them.

And currently, Thor’s up against a wall beside an open doorway on the Statesman, and he knows they’re playing with fire already. The vessel is massive, but it’s still crawling with Asgardians, and the Guardians must be somewhere on board.

He mentions as much, as usual, the way one of them always does, some false attempt at protest that never means  _ stop _ .

“Can’t help myself,” Peter groans against his neck, and the front of his body is pressed close against Thor’s side, and Thor’s fly is open, and Peter’s got his hand in Thor’s pants, palming his cock. “God, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Thor nods, runs his hands over Peter’s back. “Me too,” he admits. “Just—” his breath hitches as Peter pulls his cock out and starts stroking him. “God, just, quick. Quick, okay?”

Peter’s nodding beside his head, breath hot on Thor’s ear, and it sends chills through him. It feels so good.  _ He  _ feels so good. Fucking everything that Peter does always feels  _ so good.  _ “Whatever you want,” Peter mutters, and he holds Thor’s cock a little tighter, jerks him off a little faster. “Jesus, whatever you want.” Thor tips his head back and groans too loud, tries to stifle himself, tries just to breathe, but even his breath sounds deafening.

“I—” he whimpers, no fully formed thought in mind, but it doesn’t matter. “Someone,” he stammers as quietly as he can, “someone’s coming.”

Peter doesn’t stop, but he pulls back, glances tentatively through the doorway. “Shit,” he mutters, then looks back at Thor. And Thor pleads with his eyes, but he’s not entirely sure what for. “Just,” Peter starts, kisses him, pumps his fist faster.

It’s too good. God, it shouldn’t be this good. Thor bites down on his lip, tries to quiet himself, but his mouth whimpers “Peter,” anyway.

Peter widens his eyes, puts his free hand over Thor’s mouth as he looks through the doorway again. “They aren’t coming in,” he says, under his breath, just mouthing the words, “but they aren’t leaving.” Thor nods. “You let me know when, and I’ll swallow it.”

Thor  _ groans _ . Peter widens his eyes again in warning.

“You have to be quiet,” he says. “You’ll make a mess if you come like this, so I’m gonna give you my mouth.” Thor’s eyes flit shut as he tries not to moan again. “But I can’t do that unless you keep yourself quiet once I take my hand away.”

Thor nods furiously, trying to make his eyes promise, because he will, he can, he  _ has to.  _

Peter leans in and licks a stripe up Thor’s neck, bites at his earlobe, whispers, “You close?” And Thor nods some more, and he needs Peter’s mouth, thinks he could come any moment, just knowing there are people so close by, knowing they could hear, knowing they could walk right in and see. “You let me know. I don’t want to let go of you until you’re right there.”

Thor nods, and nods, and nods, and he slips his hand down the back of Peter’s pants and digs his fingernails into the flesh of Peter’s ass, and Peter gives him this look that’s a big mix of reproach and arousal and Thor’s there, he is, he’s  _ right there. _

He brings his free hand up and grabs Peter’s face, and he nods, and then he grabs Peter by the shoulder and pushes him down,  _ forces  _ him down, using an unfair amount of strength, really, strength Peter couldn’t resist if he wanted to.

Peter puts his finger to his lips, offering a near silent  _ shhh  _ before he takes his hand off Thor’s mouth, slides down to his knees and wraps his mouth around Thor’s cock.

Thor gets one hand over his own mouth, the other tangled up in Peter’s hair, and Peter’s barely swallowed him down before he’s coming down his throat.

Once he’s finished, Peter climbs back up his body, kisses him, helps to tuck him away.

One of these days, their luck will run out.

Thor doesn’t think either of them will actually mind. If the threat of being caught hasn’t stopped them, the act of being caught never will.


End file.
